The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

26. Avina

26

AVINA

November 5th, Year 100, 9th Era

Blackwood Inn, Salt Province

A vina is on a rare high after he agrees to her deal. Now, her existence is on her terms, not his. What a strange freedom to feel in control of something in life.

During this time, she can learn more about Sigvid and finally understand the man who exists amidst the fire and fury.

Once she returns to Timber, she plans to handle Samson and rule alone, fixing the province how it deserves.

She sits on the horse before Sigvid as they wind their way out of the city walls.

After confronting his brother, Sigvid insisted they stay the night at an inn, claiming Hest–his stallion–needs rest. However, when he nearly passes out in the tavern over a pint of ale, she wonders if the stop is for him to sleep finally.

“Home.” He gestures ahead of them.

Up a long hill and snuggled along the treeline of what appears to be a vast blackwood forest set the residence of the Prince of Salt. Although, a mere residence is the understatement of the era.

An A-frame of floor-to-ceiling windows is the center point of a damned lodge. Unlike the stucco architecture of many Toftlund homes, the lodge monstrosity is a dark hardwood. Smoke swirls into the early morning sky from one of the many chimneys.

“The Blackwood Inn. Named for the rare Salt Blackwood Forest you see around us. I purchased it long ago and have yet to take the time to furnish every room.” He whispers in her ear. His hot breath sends butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Her mouth suddenly feels dry.

Who is staying here? Had he lied about having another person living with him? Why does this trouble me?

“Why is there smoke swirling from a chimney?”

He does not answer while he eases her to the frozen ground.

“Hest, go home.” He instructs the horse, who nods and returns to the stables.

They climb along a beaten path to a set of steps leading to an expansive wrap-around porch that must embrace the entire estate. An overhang shields the porch from the rain or snow as it overlooks the hilltop.

She snorts at the single rocking chair facing the city of Toftlund and the South Sea. He sets out no other furniture on the porch.

He meets her amusement with a half grin. “What are you laughing at?”

The rocking chair creaks under her weight as she sits on the oversized chair. She sighs as she leans back and receives a stunning view of the calm sea and movement in the city to her left. “Just imagining you sitting alone, overseeing your people.”

“This is one of my favorite places to sit after a long day.” He leans on the railing carved in matching knots to many of the buildings in the city. “I like to bring some bottles of mead out and watch the waves of the South Sea.”

A sense of content settles over the high-strung warrior in the slight upturn of his lips and calm washing behind his eyes. His time away from all of this must have driven him mad.

Observing him unwind reminds her that Sigvid is just a man, not a frightening beast. His agreement to her deal makes her strangely open and at peace with her seemingly hopeless situation .

“Come, someone is in my house, and I need to confirm who.”

He swings open one of the towering double doors to the inside. He relaxes, and a rare and genuine smile twists over his features. Avina finds him quite endearing when his lips pull up in utter happiness.

“Hello, kid. What in the Abyss are you doing here?”

She peeks around his broad shoulders to see a young girl wearing a long-sleeved, oversized knit sweater and trousers that match her vibrant emerald-colored eyes. Her hair is pure chaos of the darkest midnight, curling in every which way but down.

She doesn’t appear shocked to see Prince Sigvid standing in his doorway. She continues loudly munching on a hazelnut cookie, clattering crumbs to the floor.

“You’re late, Uncle Sig.” She mumbles through a mouthful. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Father before you hurled him into the sea.”

“It is good to see you too, kiddo,” He strides into a towering entryway with crossbeam wooden rafters above their heads and nabs a treat off the girl’s plate before ruffling her frizz into more of a mess. “These look great, Thora.”

He munches away, then grabs one and hands it to Avina, who hardly notices the baked treat in her hand as her eyes rove around the space.

A massive stone fireplace dominates the center of the room, with plush chairs, lounges, and couches she had only ever seen in palaces like Pradacia or Astria. They are set in a semicircle around the hearth. The scene conjures the image of somewhere a large family would gather, laughing while they drink cups of hot tea.

A distant fantasy Avina still holds out hope to experience.

She takes a hesitant bite of the cookie and lets out a tiny moan of approval. “This is quite possibly the best treat I have ever had.” Her praise sends the young girl bouncing.

“Did you bring home a wife from the Arena?” Thora asks as she circles Avina with interest.

She finds the act unsettling but not as unnerving as Thora’s intense stare. The young girl’s eyes seem too focused on her, as if the girl is a predator studying her prey—not unlike Sigvid .

He chokes. “What do you think happened while I - never mind. Thora, meet Avina. She will be staying here.”

“As in Queen Avina?” The way she utters Avina’s title is like a younger version of Sigvid. Her gaze darkens to black, and a knife emerges from nowhere, pressing into Avina’s sternum.

“Excuse me!” She leaps away, swatting at Thora’s hand with an offended expression. Considering that Sigvid attacked her people, she grows rather tired of being accused of being the villain.

“When are we cutting her up?” Thora continues to pursue Avina with the knife.

“Whoa there, Killer!” He grabs the knife from her clutches. “We are not hurting her. She is my,” he struggles for an appropriate description that unnerves Avina, “special guest, staying here under my protection.”

“What? Why?” Thora spits. “Because of her, Father is dead, and you went to the Arena. Explain why we are letting her live!” She jabs a finger in Avina’s direction.

“I’m sorry about your father, Thora. Surely you know how war works?” Avina knows she is not necessarily helping the situation, but as much animosity as she has faced in the last two days, she is ready to explode.

Thora looks as if she wants to bite back, yet, ultimately, her shoulders fall. “It’s been hard living alone. Your house has too many animals.” Thora flops into a lounge rather dramatically.

While Sigvid overembellishes how he escaped from the Arena, Avina finally takes advantage of the calm to take in the rest of the area sandwiched between the high A-frame windows.

At one point, this must have been the inn's lobby before he converted it to an enormous central sitting room. In the corner are three huge casks of what, Avina guesses, are filled with mead.

For a man who hates other people, he certainly is set to entertain other people.

Two lovely carved staircases curve up on either side of the front-facing windows. A third set of stairs dips into the darkness of a presumed basement.

His decor style is Salt Warrior—minimalistic, as if he is decorating with insignificant items .

And brown, why is everything brown?

“How long have you been staying here, kid?” Sigvid settles into a black leather chair by the fireplace.

“Ever since the Drengr returned without you and Father.” She fidgets with what looks like a thimble. “After he adopted me and there was that whole mess with Thrain, I didn’t want to stay in the city alone. Plus, you have a lot of fucking animals to care for, Uncle Sig.”

“Fucking language, kid,” He points at her with a stern tone. “How many creatures do I still have left?”

Thora looks up at the ceiling while she ticks away on her fingers. “Four goats, three cows, Carrot Chubs, the chicken count changes, Reef and Nautilus.”

He considers her quietly and then gestures for her to come toward him. “Come here, kid.” He embraces Thora in a bear hug that rocks Avina’s understanding of the Salt Prince to her core.

I have missed quite a bit on my research of Sigvid Thorsdsson.

“I am sorry about Steinbjorn. I would give anything to ensure all my warriors return home safely.”

Thora returns his hug with blubbery tears. Her cheek rests on his chest as her shoulders heave with sobs. “I miss him, Uncle Sig.”

“I know, kiddo. I know. Do not worry. We will see Steinbjorn again in the Hall of the Briny God. He is sparring with him now.”

Avina clutches her heart, listening to the exchange. Even if she did not wield the sword that killed Steinbjorn, she instructed her soldiers to slaughter every last Drengr except the Lord Commander. The consequences of war hit her harder than she is accustomed to.

Considering the strategy books she grew up reading, she should have been more prepared to watch young Thora have a breakdown over a concept that seems so simple in theory. Deepest Abyss, she should have prepared to confront Sigvid outside the Arena one day.

Avina plucks another hazelnut cookie from the plate, which is now on an end table, and slips out the back door—determined to pet one of these goats.

Behind the lodge is a farm. Avina is not sure what she had been expecting.

Chickens strut around as if they own the place, and three shaggy- haired cows with impressive horns meander in a run with four bleating goats. Her sudden appearance draws the attention of a pair of hound dogs and a fat tabby cat that rubs against her ankles.

“Hello there, dogs.” The hounds instantly accost her with sloppy kisses and happy barks.

The side door creaks open, and footsteps groan along the porch floorboards. She lifts her head to see Sigvid leaning against the railing. “They all seem to like you.”

“What are their names?” She scratches the ears of the dogs who roll onto their backs, exposing their bellies, which she rubs happily.

“Thora named the cat Carrot Chubbs, perhaps seven winters ago when he showed up unannounced and ate my elk steak. The hounds are brothers gifted by Slode. The black one is named Nautilus, and the brown one is Reef. Also named by Thora. Besides some chickens, the hounds are the only creatures without some disability.”

“What happened to the others?” She watches as a chicken pecks nearby.

“For some reason or another, they are useless to my farmers. I care for them until they are better or pass on.” He explains calmly.

For a hardened warrior, he has quite a soft spot.

“Hello, everyone.” She accepts wet kisses from Nautilus and Reef. Once the dogs settle on the ground, she slowly turns to look up at him.

“What happened to Thora?” She isn’t sure how to delicately ask about his pseudo-niece, who is far too acquainted with a weapon at her age.

“Steinbjorn was a Drengr who died in our final battle.” He gestures between them.

Ah, the battle where I tricked him and dragged him to Scarwood.

Her nails bite into her palm to alleviate her whirling guilt.

“Her parents were his poverty-stricken servants until a terrible sickness swept through the city. She was barely walking when they joined the Briny God. Steinbjorn always held a tenderness for the spitfire kid and tried to adopt her. Naturally, Thrain denied the request. ‘We do not adopt servants.’”

Despite meeting the man in passing, she is surprised at his spot-on impression of his brother.

“Fucking ass.” He shakes his head, still clearly upset about Thrain for events that transpired in the past. “We raised Thora the best we could between Slode, Steinbjorn, and I.” He chuckles. “She is a quirky child. Tending to my animals seems to make her the most concentrated and content. We may have trained her on the practice dummies, but all three of us told her she would never be a Drengr. That life isn’t for a young girl.”

His remarks stun Avina into silence at the level of compassion he possesses for those closest to him. “Perhaps I misjudged the existence of your heart, Sigvid.”

He grins at her with a glint of something kind in his eyes.

Thora slams the back door open. “I set the floor on fire. I need help!”

“Fuck!” He runs to his house, yelling to Thora, “Get a bucket of water!”

The chaos inside would almost make her laugh if she isn’t so concerned about a fire in the wooden building.

Thora darts down the back steps with a wooden bucket, heading to the well. With a glimpse through the open back door, she can see a flicker of flame dancing along the wooden floor beside the fireplace. Sigvid quickly extinguishes the fire with his arm before yelling out the door, scolding Thora for her carelessness.

Avina shakes her head, drifting into his backyard and away from the scene. The pens for the animals mesh together, creating a maze of wooden fence posts.

The goats poke their head through the slats at her approach. One proceeds to chew on her pant leg while she pets the head of another.

Animals had a way of alleviating the typical sadness stalking Avina like a dark cloud. Her father tells her these feelings are her decision and that her warped thoughts that she is better off in the Golden Citadel are merely her selfishness.

Yet, as a shaggy cow licks her arm, she feels content.

I could get used to Blackwood.

“Chubbs!” She squeals as the enormous ginger cat dives from a small shed, sending something crashing within.

More out of curiosity than wanting to alleviate any issues for Sigvid, she slides inside to see a run-of-the-mill garden shed. Shovels, rakes, and other implements lay against cobweb-filled wooden shelves.

But something within this unassuming structure calls to her like a moth to a flame. She steps inside, her heart beating in her head. Whatever summons her is within arm’s reach. Even her blood seems to flow faster, hotter.

A small silver chest with three separate hinge lids sits on the workbench. She notes that there are three partitions but only one lock.

And it rattles and shakes.

Whatever is inside, I need it. To protect it.

Her fingertips touch the lock, which springs to life, unlocking and clacking open onto the counter by seidr . She takes a step closer until she is gripping the metal chest. Her seidr responds in kind as if meeting a kindred spirit.

Excitement fills her to the brim as she flips the lid in the center, revealing a stunning sapphire pendant nestled against a tiny, elegant pillow. The pull is too great—her hand curls around the stone.

Never in her life has she felt as alive as she does clutching the sapphire in her palm as if it is her own beating heart. A slight pulse emanates from the precious gem as if it possesses a soul.

A voice whispers in her ear. Feminine, husky, and strong. Someone whose identity Avina knows in her being as if it is her own. Yet, she can not recall the woman’s name.

“Take it, Avina. Embrace what belongs to you.” The voice urges her with such vigor that she secures the necklace around her neck before realizing what is happening.

A rush settles over her skin, and she gasps. Looking down, she sees that her entire body is invisible.

Clothes and all.